


Until Tomorrow

by FancyKid



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/M, I promise, Lemons, Meringue her lemon pie, Prompt Fic, holiday exchange 2015, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:43:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5605531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyKid/pseuds/FancyKid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor Clegane finds himself in a new position at Winterfell that might just include certain duties for which he may or may not be prepared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyTP](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTP/gifts).



> This was originally posted on Live Journal's Sansa - Sandor Community for the 2015 Holiday Exchange.
> 
> Prompt by LadyTP: 'Generally canon era, AU or missing piece. Some more specific scenarios, or variations thereof that would interest: 1. Jealousy from either party, either before or while they are in a relationship, 2. Sansa married to someone else and having an illicit affair with Sandor – may be happy or angsty, the author’s choice, 3. Sansa as the pursuer, Sandor at the back foot. Does not want extreme fluffiness or modern era AU.’
> 
> I had fun fitting all three specific scenarios into a canon based future fic! I tried not to be so specific on the backstory leading up to this - just wanted to focus on the present. It was originally only three chapters, but I will be continuing it just a little further on here!
> 
> All characters and their universe belong to George RR Martin.

She was not the same little bird he knew in King’s Landing. That was apparent the day he came to Winterfell. The way she carried herself, just like her mother, from what little he could remember of the woman. She spoke like a true lady to every single person she encountered. She was never rude like Cersei, nor as somber as her father. She was… _Sansa. Lady Sansa Stark_. And she seemed to know exactly what she was doing.

They had never spoken of the night Sandor left the capitol. The night he pushed her down on her bed with a knife to her throat. He meant to apologize as soon as he saw her - but then he _saw_ her. A woman grown, the most infuriatingly perfect thing his ugly eyes had ever been blessed to look upon. He would have groveled at her feet like the dog he was, had she asked it of him, but she did nothing of the sort. She only offered him her smiles and her thanks for keeping her still-missing sister safe, all those years ago, adding on that there would always be a place for him at Winterfell. As the captain of the bloody guard, no less. It made no sense to Sandor, but only a fool would turn down such an opportunity. So a place she had made for him indeed - just in time for her wedding.

Her lords and bannermen had expressed the need for heirs. Sansa must have had expressed the importance of those heirs being Starks. The solution was simple and staring her right in the face. Harrold Hardyng. From what he could make of it, her little cousin in the Vale still alive and healthy by all accounts, Sansa must have realized that Harry would have no piece of the Eyrie, leaving him utterly title-less. The decision was made easier, he had heard, being that she was already betrothed to the man. Every time he saw the girl she was positively beaming. He supposed he couldn’t blame her - back in her ancestral seat, her bannermen flocking to her every beck and call and her handsome husband-to-be hanging heavy on her arm. By all the information he had gathered, it seemed that Sansa must have been in love with the sap - young, handsome and _gallant_ as he was. The only reason she had chosen someone so beneath her had to be for love. Just like all her pretty little songs from when she was a child.

But in the days after Sandor first arrived at Winterfell, it became glaringly clear to him that the man was a complete fool. It took him another week to realize that Hardyng was a true prick. By that time, aside from the assumptions he had made on his own, Sandor had been informed all about this man. He was a drunk as well as an idiot. Everyone knew he had at least one bastard child in addition to the fact that he could barely keep his cock to himself.

Sandor couldn’t wrap his head around it – _why would she want to marry him_? Whenever he had spoken to Sansa, brief though it tended to be, he was all but amazed at the strong and intelligent woman she had grown into. When she spoke to a crowd or large group, she did so in such a commanding, but still kind way. That her people loved her was obvious. That was why it confounded Sandor to no end as to why she seemed so bleeding happy to give herself to Harry.

Sandor had taken to watching her closely every night from his place among the rabble below her. It wasn’t a difficult task, and he knew he took too much out of it, watching her. Sandor always knew she would grow beautifully into her womanhood. She had become more attractive than her mother was, more beautiful than Cersei by far. He couldn’t avoid taking in the sight of her any chance he got, even with that sod seated too close next to her.

* * *

Sandor was only there two weeks before the wedding took place. By that time, the others around him were starting to get used to his presence, his face. He didn’t go to the ceremony in the godswood, but Sansa had personally invited every person in the bleeding castle to join the celebration in the great hall. There was music and more lavish food and drink than they would be given on a usual night. It was more difficult to keep his eye on her this evening. She held Harry’s hand proudly at the table, let him whisper into her ear, and took a piece of lemon cake from his fingers between her teeth. She did not even manage to blush when he sloppily kissed her full on the mouth for all to see.

It was a Karstark who finally called for it – the bedding. Sandor felt his hands form into fists at the mere thought. He kept his eyes on his wine as the bride and groom were carried off to their marriage bed. He would have been content, staying there, trying to pretend he didn’t care about what was going to happen to her, but some bugger practically lifted his drunk self from his seat and tossed him in the middle of the tide that was already washing over Sansa. He could barely see her, but for her hair. It had already been pulled out of its pins and elaborate braids by the time the group made it up the stairs. _Fucking animals, the lot of them._ Whistling, jeering, making crude japes, pulling the ribbons from the bodice of her gown for fuck’s sake. But from what he could tell, she took it all in stride, responding smartly to the japes made, even including some of her own from the sound of their laughter. It wasn’t until they made it to the door of her chambers that he could see her fully.

Her hair fell messily down her back, covering her bare shoulders as she held up what remained of her dress with her slightly shaking hands, clutching the fabric to her chest. Right before they shoved her in to meet her husband, there was a brief moment when her eyes caught his across the crowd. They were wide, looking like they belonged to a deer staring straight at a loaded crossbow. It was a cry for help - that much was clear. Sandor didn’t hesitate. He started to push through the men surrounding her, holding her gaze all the while. Until she blinked, shook her head at him, and the moment was over before she even gave herself a chance to escape. Sansa made another jape that he couldn’t care to remember, making the men erupt in laughter before they shuffled her into her room, not without a good smack on the arse. Sandor forced himself to leave with the group, going to the wine that was still flowing in the great hall. He made sure the man who spanked her fell down the last two or five steps on his way back.

Sandor couldn’t decide whether or not he did the right thing, leaving her there. The wine wasn’t helping him make a decision either. He tried to forget the way she looked at him. _But_ why _did she look at me like that?_ _Was she that terrified?_ But then she had shaken her head at him. He took it to mean that she would be alright, that she didn’t need help. But what if he had been wrong?

He got up before he let himself question it again and headed for her chambers. He didn’t know what he was expecting – to hear her scream for help, to hear her cry? But when he got there, all he heard were the drunken snores of the new lord.

In the morning when he saw her, she was all herself again. That frightened little bird from last night was just a dream. _Had it even happened?_ She looked so happy that morning, still smiling next to her new husband who looked a little worse for the wear himself. He wasn’t surprised, seeing the way Harding drank himself into oblivion last night. Sandor couldn’t help himself though. He stared at her, still seeing her frightened face from the night before in his mind. But if she was scared or uncomfortable at all, she didn’t let it show in the least. Not that day and not in the weeks that followed.

The day he found her lordly husband pressing a kitchen wench up against the wall was a knife to the gut. He didn’t understand. _Even now? He gets to bed_ Sansa _every bloody night and he still needs to fuck kitchen wenches in the middle of the afternoon?_ Sandor knew if he could only be so lucky to have the little bird in his bed. He knew he would never leave it, let alone go off searching for someone else. Thinking of her like that was still no good though, even after all of these years. So he tried to go about his days as usual and keep his mind off of it. Sandor hadn’t felt truly angry in a long time. But seeing Sansa every night with that buggering fool did something to his insides, something that wine alone wouldn’t fix. Training in the yard with the less than capable boys he was given was truly the only thing that took his mind off of it, even if it was just for a little while.

* * *

 

It seemed it was all of a sudden that things started to change, at least from Sandor’s perspective. He would see it on Sansa, although he doubted anyone else watched her as closely. He caught her rolling her eyes at Harry on multiple occasions. He saw the way her jaw clenched whenever he laughed too loud or when he spilled a drink.

And that wasn’t all. Sansa must have felt his stare, for she started to look right back at him. Sandor turned away whenever she did, chastising himself for continuing to gawk over her night after night. One time though, he did not turn away as quickly as he should have. He held her gaze for too long a moment, until her mouth parted slightly and her forehead crinkled as she squinted at him. _Just leave the girl alone for fuck’s sake._

He thought he finally had a grip on himself, never glancing in her direction at meals again. But if she happened to pass him in the hall, how could he ignore her completely? Especially when it started happening near every bleeding day. They would just nod at one another, and he would thank the heavens that she kept her pretty mouth shut. Until she didn’t.

“Good afternoon Sandor.” She said, passing him on his way to the armory.

“A beautiful day, isn’t it Sandor?” She chirped one particularly sunny morning as she walked by the practice yard.

“Have a good evening Sandor.” She nearly purred one night as they left the great hall at the same time.

He tried not to think anything of it, always responding with a nod or an empty courtesy that he hated so much and it all seemed to be fine.

But one night, she started to walk through the tables in the evening. He watched her closely as she slowly snaked through the tables and benches, checking in with almost everyone; patting men on the shoulder, telling them to enjoy their meal, wishing them a good evening. She made her way behind his table, leaving him unprepared for when she finally came up to him.

Sansa pressed her hand on his shoulder, freezing every muscle in his body, even though it felt like he was on fire. She leaned over to him as he turned toward her - her face far too close to his.

“How are you Sandor?” He could smell the wine on her lips, but she wasn’t drunk. He could see that in the way she walked, maneuvering so expertly through the packed hall.

He tried to keep his face blank when he answered her, but she was just too close. “Well enough, thank you, Lady Sansa.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Sansa gave his shoulder a squeeze and made to move to the next man. But she didn’t lift her hand. She let her fingers graze over his back as she walked behind him, pulling the tips of his hair out of the way, leaving a burning trail on his skin all the way to his other shoulder. She did not lift her hand away until she walked completely past him, when he was out of reach. Sandor could not move, not even to down the wine left in his cup. _What the fuck?_

He watched her go around to the rest of the tables, waiting for her to do the same to another man, but she didn’t. She barely touched the others. Just a pat or squeeze on the shoulder before she lifted her hand completely and moved onto the next.

Sandor convinced himself that he was thinking too much of it all. _Been too long since I’ve had a woman,_ he figured. He was just overly sensitive to her touch. He tried to get sleep on that, failing to truly convince himself that was the only reason it seemed so strange.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who has taken an interest into this story! Going to be brief 6 chapters so I hope you all enjoy!

The next afternoon Sandor was in the yard attempting to train the scrap with which he was provided to create a household guard. Sansa came out of nowhere, her copper hair reflecting the sun so brightly he nearly had to squint when he looked at her.

She waved him over to the side and he felt like a fool for being all too aware of what a sight he must have been, sweat soaked hair clinging to his burned scalp and all. But she didn’t seem to mind. “How is everything going, Sandor?”

He was silent for a beat before he answered. “Better, my lady. Finally getting them to understand what it means to hold a sword.”

“Wonderful.” She beamed up at him like he was the summer sun itself. “Would you mind stopping by my solar later this evening? I would love to discuss it more with you.”

Sandor was frozen silent, until he realized she had actually asked him that question. He blinked and gave her a quick nod, which only made her smile wider. “Lovely.” She reached out from under her cloak and touched his forearm. “I am looking forward to it.” She gave him a quick squeeze before slowly pulling away and retreating back the way she came, leaving him blinking and utterly lost as to what it was she wanted from him.

When he was clean and presentable enough in the evening, he found Sansa waiting for him in her solar with wine, a plate of cheeses, warm bread. Sandor only took the wine as she gestured for him to sit in the arm chair by the fire. He refrained from rolling his eyes as she sat on the plush couch to his side. _Here it is then - she’s finally gotten sick of my leering at her every damned day. Gonna send me off._

_‘Thank you for your time, Hound, but unfortunately I can’t stand the sight of your ugly face in my presence ever again.’_

She started by asking him question after question regarding his position, his progress and more nonsense that she could have asked of him in the yard when she saw him before. Sandor was sure that he had answered the same question twice. _But what is_ wrong _with her? If you want me out, tell me to leave!_ He wanted to scream. Where was the woman who commanded a room of hundreds with the strength and tranquility of her beautiful voice? Her usual commanding composure all but lost behind a bumbling, blushing little girl - a girl like the one he knew in King’s Landing.

After she had run out of questions, Sansa took to looking at the fire in the hearth from the corner of her eye, breathing heavily all of a sudden. _Damn it all girl, just get it over with,_ he wanted to yell. But he tried to keep his voice even when he spoke. “Is there something else, my lady?”

“No.” She answered too quickly, snapping her focus back to him. “Well.” She swallowed. “Nothing in particular.”

He waited, _bloody puzzling woman_.

“How are you enjoying your time here at Winterfell, Sandor?” She was staring at him, waiting for an answer, and he had one. _It’s the only time in my life that I’ve felt like I have an actual purpose._ But how could he tell her that, especially right before she was going to send him on his way? Even though it was the complete and utter truth?

He sighed, and settled for a slightly less frightening version of the truth. “As always, I am grateful for the place you have given me here.”

“Good.” She smiled, nodding. “That makes me very happy.” She just stared at him as yet another silence came over the room again. He waited for her next question to answer, but she didn’t offer one, nor did she dismiss him. When it started to get uncomfortable, he figured she might want _him_ to ask something. So he tried the first thing that came to mind.

He cleared his throat, already feeling like a fool. “How are you enjoying…” He trailed off, not knowing how to phrase it.

“Being married?” She finished for him. Sandor felt himself nod. Sansa’s eyes widened slightly and she wet her lips before she answered. “It’s fine.” _Liar_. But he didn’t say so out loud. “Well…” She went on. “It is better than being married to Joffrey would have been, I am sure.” She gave a light nervous chuckle, seemingly trying to break the tension. Sandor couldn’t laugh with her. The thought of what Joff would have done to her had they actually been married was nothing to laugh at, nothing to make light of.

Just the thought sent his teeth grinding together, another question slipping out of his mouth before he could stop it. “Is he good to you, my lady?”

“Harry?” Sansa reddened even further, but didn’t hesitate. “He is not…hurting me. If that is what you mean.” There was something she was holding back, but he knew it was not his place to press her. “You know…” She went on. “You do not have to call me that. _My lady_.” She scrunched her nose up at the words. “I call you by your name now, as you asked me. I should hope you would do the same for me.” He felt his head tilt, but she continued before he could question her. “At least, when we are alone.”

Sandor felt his eyes narrow at her, trying to get a handle on what exactly she was saying. “And how often are we alone?”

Sansa just shrugged. She looked down at his hand on the arm of his chair. He watched her as she took a breath, obviously readying herself for something, before she reached forward, placing her pretty hand on top of his. Her light touch sent a shock straight to his core. He stared down at their hands, waiting for her to explain just what the hell she was doing.

But whatever she was about to say stayed in her mind when her maid came bustling in to clear away the tray that she had made for him. The tension was broken and Sandor found himself on his feet, muttering a thank you to the prattling girl before getting out of there as fast as his legs could take him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor discovers that too much wine tends to make Sansa a little impatient...

It was two days later and Sandor found himself alone in the kitchens late at night. He barely slept the past two nights, trying to wrap his head around that ridiculous meeting with Sansa. He’d sat himself down on a stool with a flagon of wine. Even though it was now nearly empty, he still couldn’t get his thoughts in order. Especially since, tonight, Sansa had given him all new shit to brood over.

She had glared down at him from the dais for the entirety of the evening meal. Every time he glanced up toward her, she was watching him, her cup of wine always at her lips. Sandor tried not to look, but he could feel her stare like an all new burn into the side of his face. After the better part of an hour, he couldn’t stand it anymore. He turned directly toward her. He felt his face go into the cruel mask he so often wore in his previous life; eyes icy and narrowed, nostrils flared, lips pulled back in a sneer, as he tried to make her look away.

Sansa merely put down the wine that had flushed her cheeks and blinked back at him, her lips parting as her chest rose and fell with deep concentrated breaths. In the end, it was Sandor who broke the stare first, pushing himself away from the table and stalking out toward the kitchens where he could drink as much as he bloody well pleased without being under the surveillance of a certain little bird.

“Sandor!” He cringed when her shout echoed from the door of the kitchen. He turned slowly to see Sansa hurrying over to him, almost running right into a barrel of flour before she corrected herself. “I was hoping you would be here.”

Her hair was free of any twists and braids like she had before, falling heavy down her back. She was wearing the same dress she had on that evening, but the laces down her bodice were loose, almost as if she dressed herself alone and hastily. Her cheeks were red and her lips were plump and pink. She was drunk, and had obviously been good and truly fucked by her lord husband.

Sandor started to rise, to bid her a good evening, but she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“No. Wait.” He felt her try to press him back down in a sitting position so he obliged, not knowing what else to do. She sat on the stool next to him, much too closely, and put her hands in her lap.

He thought she would have something to say to him, but the only sound in the kitchen was the small fire that was dwindling in the hearth. He waited another moment, but since she didn’t do anything other than chew on her lip, he had to speak. In his somewhat hazy mind, he said the first thing he thought of, seeing her like that. “Your husband must be wondering where you are.”

She waved a hand at him and whispered as if it were a secret. “He’s asleep.”

“Why are you here? You should be in bed.”

Sansa snorted out a laugh. It was the most unladylike thing he’d ever seen her do, but she was so bloody alluring at the same time. “I _was_ in bed. Not missing anything there - trust me.”

Sandor had quite enough. He repressed the urge to grip her by the shoulders and shake the truth out of her. Instead he leaned in closely and held her still with his stare. “Tell me. Is he hurting you?”

Sansa blinked up at him slowly, the smile fading from her face. “No.” She took a deep breath. “It’s just…”

He hadn’t seen her look so concerned since her wedding night. Propriety aside, he felt his hands move of his own accord as they finally gripped into her shoulders. “Look at me. Tell me the truth.”

Sansa blinked at him again and sighed. “That is the truth. Besides the first night, of course, but that couldn’t be helped. Right?”

Sandor let go of her and found himself nodding as she chewed on her lip again. He would never dream of asking, but in her inebriated state, he knew she wouldn’t care. Besides, he needed to know. “Why did you marry him?” He rasped. “Your bannermen had plenty of…worthy sons of their own to offer. Why would you give yourself to such a-“ He cut himself off, already berating himself for crossing the line with that little.

“A fool?” She finished for him. She shifted her stool closer, her knee briefly knocking into his. “ _Because_ he’s a fool. Don’t you see?” She sighed happily. ” _I_ want to rule Winterfell. It belongs to me and mine. Not an Umber or a Karstark who would try to rule _for_ me. So I just ply Harry with wine and women. I’ll get my heirs and control of the North remains with House Stark.”

In a strange and twisted way, it did make sense, though he could never have expected something like this from her. Still, Sandor could barely stomach the thought of her lying underneath that sod. But at least she seemed content over the fact that he was only there to provide her with heirs, and not the other way around.

She smiled at him and he felt the obvious grimace on his face. “Don’t look so concerned, Sandor. I’m really alright.” She put her hand on his shoulder and brought herself closer - too close. “You always looked out for me, didn’t you?” Every sane thought in his mind was telling him to back away, to get up and leave. Nothing good could come of whatever it was that she was doing. But his body was rooted to the spot, frozen on the stool as if his life depended on his ability to remain completely still. “I always felt safer when you were around.” Sansa hummed. “Wished you _had_ been around, countless times, in the Vale...”

 _What the bloody hells is she talking about?_ The disbelief Sandor felt course through him wasn’t made any better by the feeling of her too warm hand on his shoulder. She was watching her hand there, a distant look in her eyes. He observed her slowly as the realization of what she was doing came to her face. She met his eyes, most likely saw complete and utter bewilderment there, before blinking and snatching her hand away back into her lap again. He watched, still unable to move, as the drunk half-smile slipped back onto her mouth.

“Can I tell you something?” She whispered, somehow getting even closer to him. Sandor still couldn’t move, but her smile widened. “Harry…he’s…” She blew a heavy breath out of her mouth. “Well he’s bloody dreadful, isn’t he?” She sputtered out a laugh, and Sandor resisted the urge to lean away from her. Whoever this strange girl was – he could barely recognize her as she went on. “All…sloppy, groping. Terribly _boring_ , really.” She laughed and Sandor swallowed what felt like his heart in his throat. “I always thought…I don’t know…that there would be more to it. My friend Randa always made it seem like…”

She looked up at him, and searched his eyes, trying to focus. _Sansa fucking Stark is telling me that her husband can’t bring her the pleasure she wants in bed. She’s telling_ me _. Why the fuck is she telling me?_

“You’d think with all of his… _experience_ , that he would be better at it.” She laughed out loud, making him start. “Gods, did I just say that?” Sansa blinked up at him. “How embarrassing.” She hiccupped and covered her giggling mouth with her hand.

“Maybe you should write a letter to your friend Randa? Talk to her about this.” He suggested soberly.

“I did.” She nodded slowly, suddenly grave. “She gave me some advice...”

Sandor hoped she wouldn’t notice how he shifted his stool another inch away from her in the silence that she left in between them. “You should go back to your husband.” He finally told her.

“Mmmm.” Sansa looked up at him again, still biting that already swollen lip of hers as she came closer to him. When she spoke, it was a whisper. “I don’t want to.” She looked up at him as her teeth closed around the corner of her lip again. He’d been so focused on her mouth that he nearly jumped off of his seat when he felt her hand graze his knee under the counter. He watched her eyes as she blinked heavily. _A drunk mess._ “I tried to do the right thing.” She slurred. “Really…I did. But if my husband is free to…to be with other people… why should that not mean the same for me?”

He shook his head, trying to shake out the pounding in his ears. “My lady…” He choked out, not leaving her eyes.

She sighed prettily, and tilted her flushed face up to him. “What did I tell you about my name?” Her fingers played their way up his thigh. “Sansa.” Her warm breath washed over his face. She was too close to him. “I want you to call me Sansa.”

He had an image in his mind of how the night could turn out if he let her continue. He would kiss her pretty pink mouth. He was sure he was no good at kissing, but in her drunk state, she would never notice. He would sneak her up to his room and show her what her husband couldn’t. He’d make her sigh underneath him, sing prettily for him. And then he pictured her after. In the morning. Sober. Hating herself, realizing her drunken mistake. She’d never be able to look at him again. He’d probably have to find somewhere else to go and live - something else to do with his miserable life.

When her fingers trailed up closer to where they had no right to be, Sandor stood up so fast that the stool beneath him fell over with a clatter against the stone floor. The racket seemed to snap her out of her delusion; her back suddenly erect, her eyes wide and on her hands in her lap.

Sandor stood there a moment, breathing hard through his nose. “Get some rest, Lady Stark.” He nearly spat at her, seeing as she had so obviously forgotten who she was. An all new type of redness took over her features then. He felt like shit for embarrassing her, but the tightness in his breeches was enough to remind him of why he had to do just that. He stalked off away from her, leaving her alone to hang her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehehehh I can't help myself with drunk!Sansa sometimes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised today so I might be late for work for taking the time to post it before! Ah! Enjoy!

An unofficial part of Sandor’s duties was to patrol the near-empty family apartments late at night. It had started the night of her wedding. He told himself he still did it out of habit alone, but he knew that he just needed to check up on her. He avoided the task for the week after she had… _propositioned_ him, berating himself constantly for being so weak.

Sandor hadn’t seen her since that night, and it was no accident. Aside from avoiding his nightly duty, he didn’t go to the great hall even once. But after such a long time, he knew he had to get his days back on track. He rarely saw her there in the halls anyway, late in the night that his rounds took place. Even then, he had to see her at some point. She’d made him captain of her bleeding guard after all. It was only after he talked himself up to the task that he trudged up the stairs to get it over with. He made it through the halls, hesitating only briefly outside of her door. He practically raced the rest of the way back to the stairs, thanking the seven hells that he didn’t run into her.

But it was Sansa that had quite literally run into him. She gasped as she careened around the corner of the stairwell, crashing into his chest. He caught her by the shoulders, keeping the both of them from tumbling down the staircase behind her.

“Sandor.” She breathed, looking up into his eyes, far too near to him. Sandor couldn’t help but remember another time, years ago, colliding with the same girl in a different stairwell, a different castle, a different life. The thoughts he had in his mind that night not much different from what he was thinking now, looking at her.

He needed to get away from her. He released Sansa’s shoulders a bit too forcefully and gave her a curt nod. “My Lady.” And he moved to walk down past her.

He was three steps down, and much as he wanted to, he couldn’t ignore the feather-light touch of her hand on his arm and she moved to stop him. “Sandor wait.” He was forced to turn around, making himself level with her from the lower stairs. She blinked at him and visibly swallowed before speaking. “I wanted to speak with you. I was actually trying to find you, just now. I haven’t seen you in so long...” Sandor waited. Watching her search for the words was nearly painful. “It is about the other night.”

He waved his hand at her, eager for this encounter to end. “Don’t mention it. Already forgotten.” He bent his head toward her again and started to turn. He would have ran down the buggering steps if she didn’t stop him again.

“That’s why I wanted to speak to you.” She cleared her throat, but it didn’t help to make her voice any louder as he turned back again to face her. “I hoped that you… _would not_ forget.” And so Sansa started stuttering her way through the most confusing speech he’d ever been privy to hearing in his life. “I know I am not experienced at all with… _this_ , so maybe that is why I made a fool of myself, but I…I meant it. _I mean it._ Only…I was not sure how to go about it.” She sighed and rolled her eyes at herself. “I meant to just…talk to you that day in my solar, but I was just so…nervous. So a few nights later, I got terribly pissed and thought that would work. I thought... _touching_ you would work.” A fierce blush was creeping up her neck as she continued to speak. Sandor couldn’t take his eyes off it. He couldn’t get over the fact that Sansa Stark just called herself terribly pissed. “I am sorry for that. For putting you in that position.” She cleared her throat, and he looked back up at her eyes. They were wide, looking at him as she continued on, sounding like the weak little girl she used to be, which only served to infuriate him more.

“I tried to stay away for the next few days, convinced you were _repulsed_ by me. Laughing at me behind my back. I was so sure.” Sandor refrained from rolling his eyes as she did. _Stupid little bird, like I could ever find her_ repulsive. “But, I know that cannot be true. Not with the way you just looked at me.” Sandor was completely still, inwardly kicking himself for being so obvious when she caught him off guard as she continued. “It is the way you have always looked at me. I was too naïve to understand it when I was a girl, but I do now.” She blinked slowly and took a breath. “It is the way you’re looking at me right now.” _Fuck me,_ he thought as he tried to blink away the need for her burning in his eyes. “Since you’ve been here - No…long before then.” She murmured to herself before looking at him again. “I always think of that night. The battle of the Blackwater. I know why you came to my room.”

Sandor felt his teeth clash together as he clenched his jaw. If ever they were to talk about that night, he was sure she would have wanted him to apologize, to beg forgiveness. But he could see it in her eyes as she took a step down closer to him - that was not the reason she was speaking of it again. “I was glad you restrained yourself then. But now,” She let out a shaky breath. “I just wish you wouldn’t.”

“ _Enough girl_.” He finally snarled, cutting her off and breaking his own shameful stare off of her, trying his hardest not to think too much on what she was bleating about. “What do you want?”

To her credit, she didn’t balk at his coarse speech, nor did she look away from him. She did, however, continue to wring her hands together in front of her. Keeping his eye, she tilted her chin down, as if it could make her whisper even quieter. “Don’t make me say it.”

Sandor took a step up closer, feeling himself tower over her. “If you are brave enough to want what I think you do, then you bloody well be brave enough to ask it of me. Say it out loud.”

He watched as her breathing increased, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the anxious breaths she took. She only chewed on her lip again. “I don’t know how…”

 _Fine._ He tried to be gentle. He tried to be _courteous_. All for the sake of her. He didn’t want to think that she was as stupid as that girl in the capitol, but she clearly wasn’t thinking in her right mind if she kept coming after him like this. _She must be drunk again. She has no idea what she’s asking for._

Before she could have a chance to think on what he was doing, Sandor had Sansa pressed between him and the stone wall behind her. His arms wrapped around her, crushing her to him. She gasped when he twisted her hair around his hand at the base of her neck, tugging lightly, exposing her long neck to his teeth. He hovered over her skin, holding her still, feeling the heat of her under his scarred lips. He could feel her heartbeat thundering against his own.

“Is this what you want, girl?” Her arms snaked around his neck as she tried to tug him closer, but he remained unmoved, waiting for her to say it. “ _Is this what you want_?” He rasped in her ear.

With the way he held her behind her back, fingers gripping into her waist, he felt a shiver go through her. “Yes.” She sighed prettily. “ _Gods_ , yes.”

Sandor pulled back slightly to get a better look at her. Her mouth slightly parted, her eyes closed tight, furrowing her brow in frustration that he hadn’t made another move. He could smell her sweet breath, not a trace of wine on her mouth. _Then what the fuck is she doing?_

 

He let go of her and stepped back against the other side of the wall. Her arms fell down to her sides and her eyes opened. He tried not to think of the way her heaving chest felt pressed up against his, her warm hands on the skin of his neck, her silken hair twisted between his fingers, her breath in his ear as she admitted she wanted him. She was silent for a moment as he regarded her, as she regained her breath, but not so much of her composure. She looked up at him again, gritting her teeth, her face glowing red. “Don’t tease me. Please.”

“Don’t chirp at me like that, _my lady_.” He nearly roared, completely fed up. But her eyes darkened with every word he said. “I don’t know what’s worse. You being stupidly drunk or chirping on like that stupid little bird you used to be in King’s Landing. You aren’t that little girl anymore. You’re the fucking Lady of Winterfell! Act like it. Especially with me.” He pointed at her, stepping closer again. “If you want something, _ask for it_.”

That, more than anything, seemed to strike a nerve. She raised her chin and blinked at him defiantly. “Fine.” He watched her swallow, before she spoke again, her voice, the familiar one spoken to the rest of her household. “I have wanted you for a very long time. Longer than I think I have even been aware of. When you came to Winterfell, when I saw you again, it was all the more obvious to me.”

Sandor was frozen silent, his arms hanging still at his sides. Assuming it was one thing, but hearing it aloud put his mind in a frenzy. _She thought about me – like that – when I wasn’t even here?_

“And then I started thinking.” Her eyes softened slightly, but her voice lost none of its control. “Perhaps that is not _all_ there is…between us.”

Sansa trailed off but looked at him hard. He knew she was waiting for him to stop her. To tell her she was wrong. But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t lie. His silence seemed to give her a new kind of hope.

She took a deep breath, her eyes searching his. “Harry is going hunting. For a week.”

“I know.” He answered, finding his voice again. Sandor had been counting down the days, having arranged the guard himself, looking forward to a week or so without seeing the prick around the keep.

“He is leaving tomorrow.” Sansa told him.

“…I know.”

Sansa took a step toward him, her eyes positively glittering in the candlelight. “Now that I am married and bedded, I have decided that I would like for you to come to my chambers. Tomorrow. You should plan to stay the night. We could talk, or…” She cut herself off and let out a breath.

 _Fuck._ All he wanted her to do was say what she wanted. Now that she did, he had no words to respond. With the way she looked at him, he wished he hadn’t let go of her in the moment before. _It doesn’t seem like she would stop me if I did it again._

He kept his eyes on hers, even as she glanced down at his mouth. It seemed an age until she found his eyes again, her mouth ticking up at the corner. “Forgive me if I am wrong Sandor, but I take your silence to mean you accept.”

 _No. Say no, you buggering idiot_. But he couldn’t. Not trapped under her gaze like that. Not with everything she had just said. He tried to shake his head, but he couldn’t even stop himself as a sigh slipped from his mouth. “Sansa.”

She was grinning in earnest now as she slowly backed away from him. Sandor watched her as she turned and started up the stairwell again, taking in the sight of her walking away. He was still frozen to the spot as she neared the corner and stopped, turning her head over her shoulder to face him with a crooked smirk. “Until tomorrow, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is in editing process! (It is also a change in perspective!) :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa begins to wonder if she bit off more than she can chew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change in POV for the last three chapters! Also, if you haven't noticed, I had to add an extra one. Hope y'all don't mind!  
> Warning for mild dub-con. Just in case. Sansa just reflects on enduring boring marital sex with Harry.

“Gods. Oh gods what have I done? _What have I done!_ ”

Sansa paced around her solar after leaving the evening meal early. Her hands were at her waist as she tried to steady herself, but it was no use. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She was breathing so heavily that she was starting to get light headed. _And now I am talking to myself,_ she thought.

She shook her head furiously. “I can’t do this.”

Sansa bounded over to her desk and scrambled for a fresh piece of parchment. _I will send a message. Tell him I am ill. He will know what I mean and he will forget about it all, just like he said last night._ She picked up a quill and tried to steady her shaking hand, but her mind wouldn’t let her. _No Sansa, you fool. He only said he would forget about it_ before _you begged him not to. Before he grabbed you and pushed you against the wall. Before you told him to come to your chambers tonight._

The quill fell from her hands and she back away from the desk. _It is too late._ She started pacing in front of the fire again, ready to bite off her nails in worry. She put her hands over her face and groaned. _Who did I think I was? Inviting_ the Hound _into my bed?_

A strangled, pitying whine escaped her then and she found herself crumbled on the floor in front of the fire in the hearth. She could hear his voice rasping in the back of her mind. _You’re the fucking Lady of Winterfell! Act like it._ She dropped her hands into her lap. She knew that the Lady of Winterfell should not be whining like a child after finally getting something that she wanted _._ Sansa’s own conscience invaded her mind then – _The Lady of Winterfell should not have asked the captain of her guard to come to her bed, either._

She shook her head, making herself push that thought away. She had asked him to come and so he would. There was no stopping it now. There was a reason she had asked him and she could not let herself forget it, not now.

She wanted him. She always had. That in itself was nothing new. Gods knew he wanted her, the way he gawked at her every day. Today, though, was different. Sandor had gathered the guard that would accompany Harry on his hunting trip in the yard. Sansa had been there to say farewell to her husband. Harry kissed her right on the mouth for all to see, but Sansa did not even manage to blush. Not anymore. She watched Harry mount his horse and waved to him as he rode away with the others. As soon as his back was turned, Sansa looked over to Sandor. He had been watching Harry as well. It was not hate that invaded his features as much as disdain - disgust. He glared at her husband in the same way he had started to look at Joffrey toward the end.

When Harry was out of sight Sandor’s eyes flashed towards her. Sansa was practiced in holding his gaze now, and even though she did not show it, she still felt a jolt in her chest whenever he looked in her direction. Sandor stared right back at her from across the yard, his grey eyes holding an intensity similar to the way he had looked at Harry. Only it was much, _much_ different. There was a need. A hunger, perhaps. Sansa could not even blink if she tried. It was like he was testing her to see if she truly meant what she had asked for the night before. So she did not balk. She could not. Not even if she had wanted to.

He walked towards her then and she held her composure, even though her insides screamed out against the coolness she put forth.

“Lady Sansa.” He hummed as he walked past her. Just the sound of his voice alone sent a chill up her spine. It almost sounded as if he were emphasizing her name, like she had asked of him on several occasions. She could not find her voice then, so she settled for merely returning his response with a nod, which in her mind confirmed their later appointment.

She had been so ready last night and even this morning. But now here she was on her knees, hyperventilating in front of the fire. Sansa still could not believe it was finally going to happen. After weeks of trying to put herself out there for him, after months of watching him closely, after years of dreaming of him - it was all about to come true.

Sansa used to feel that her thoughts were shameful back in the Vale. Why should she dream such things about a man whom she barely knew? She had always pushed thoughts of him away, no matter how he had invaded her mind back then. But then he had appeared at Winterfell seeking a position! She could hardly believe it. She could barely compose herself in his presence when he came to her. In the beginning, Sansa tried to convince herself that she only kept him around because she owed him a debt for having saved her life back in King’s Landing. But there was always a little voice in the back of her mind telling her that it was more than that.

 _And it had been had it not?_ The way he watched her only made that little voice become louder and louder until he was near the only thing she thought about. She watched him every chance she had. She tried to memorize the shape of his broad shoulders, the hook of his nose, the movement of his mouth. She found herself unwittingly remembering his features during strange moments of the day. It was more than a couple of occasions that someone had to tug gently on her elbow or wave a hand in front of her face in order to get her attention again. When the thought of Sandor followed her into her marriage bed, she could not even pretend to lie to herself: with the help of her imagination, it was a drastic improvement.

Harry was a fool, but he was kind to her and not ungentle. But after the pain of the first and second time, it just became more of a chore. She did not mind it, in truth, but it did not bring her any pleasure either. Not the kind of pleasure that Randa had always raved about. She tried to imagine that it was Sandor on top of her every night, but even her imagination was not strong enough for that. She was beginning to think there was something wrong with _her_ and her body after a while. She had written to Myranda, telling her all about her plight. Randa was convinced that she had a simple solution and Sansa had thought it ridiculous. She couldn’t possibly! But that was all until one night, one dream.

After another terribly uneventful evening alone with her husband, Sansa fell into a restless sleep, dreaming a familiar dream. She was in her room in King’s Landing during the battle of the Blackwater. Sandor had come to her. Only he was not drunk nor was he covered in blood as he had been from her true memory. He was as he appeared every day, with that same look in his eyes as he watched her. The dream turned to just flashes then: They didn’t even speak. She flung herself at him. His mouth covered hers. They tore at each other’s clothes and fell back onto her bed. His lips on her throat. Her hands pulling him down on top of her. He pushed himself inside of her and kissed her again.

Sansa woke up panting, her nightshift sticking to her body with sweat, an unfulfilled ache between her legs. Not knowing what else to do, she touched herself. She found the spot in which the ache was the worst and moved her fingers against herself until she nearly bit through her lip, trying to stifle the sounds that erupted from the back of her throat.

She laid there in the quiet aftermath trying to catch her breath, trying to realize what it was she had just felt, and listening to her husband’s snores all the while. Sansa was almost furious; that she could reach such a state of pleasure with Sandor only in her mind, she knew that she would never get there even with Harry inside of her body. That little voice in the back of her mind returned then, unwelcomed as it was. _Surely_ , it told her, _this is not some mere obsession. What if it’s more than that?_ But Sansa pushed that thought away. _No. Certainly not._ Attaching _feelings_ to the way she wanted him would do neither of them any good. Either way, she had made up her mind in that very moment. She would take Randa’s advice. She needed Sandor. He wanted her too, and she knew he would not refuse.

It had been a long, shameful, and embarrassing process. Sansa had not expected him to be so difficult to convince. She had nearly given up countless times, but she finally got what she wanted. He was coming to her - tonight.

Sansa had left the evening meal early, too anxious to eat, too nervous to even look down in Sandor’s direction. She made the appropriate excuses to sneak out of the great hall early and headed for her chambers. Her handmaid had tried to get her to eat, but Sansa sent her away. She told her she needed to rest and she was looking forward to sleeping in later in the morning. She made sure that she would not be disturbed, at least until the early afternoon. _So there really is no preventing this._ _I had made certain of that, didn’t I?_

It was difficult now, to remember why she had wanted this so badly, now that she sits crumpled on the floor, a whining bundle of nerves. It felt like she was falling apart at the seams. She thought she would be more nervous the night before. How she held herself together in that stairwell, she had no idea. Even just the thought of what had happened made her shiver. She had been so frightened at first when he grabbed her. She knew now that it was just out of shock – shock that was almost immediately replaced by a different, better, stronger feeling.

Sansa closed her eyes now, thinking of the way he touched her. The slight pull on her scalp from how he tugged at her hair. The rapid hammering of his heart when he pressed his broad chest against hers. The heat of his hand through the fabric of her dress when he gripped into her waist. The feeling of his warm breath grazing over the skin on her neck. Just thinking of it all, Sansa found that her breathing began to slow. A familiar warmth spread through her veins as it had whenever she thought of him in such a way. Using her own experience instead of her imagination was such a beautifully strange variation to it though, one she knew she could get used to. She felt her heartbeat race and her hand move of its own accord as it ghosted up her chest to her throat, before she placed her fingers over the delicate skin that she had wanted him so badly to kiss. She breathed in deeply, trying to imagine how it might have felt.

When she opened her eyes, there was a knock at the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm... I wonder who it could be...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This may take more convincing than Sansa had originally thought. Sandor’s hesitation leads to a conversation that neither of them were prepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok now I actually AM late for work!

_Sandor Clegane is on the other side of this door whether you are ready for him or not._

Sansa had gotten up on wobbly legs and made her way toward the door. The room had become dark as she fretted about for who knew how long, but the hearthfire and a few candles lit here and there gave off plenty of warm light. Her shaking hand rattled the knob so violently that she had to put her other hand on her wrist to steady herself. _You’re the Lady of Winterfell. Act like it,_ she told herself again. She took one more deep breath before finally pulling the door open.

Sandor stood there, already towering over her in his alarmingly intimidating form.

“Hello.” She managed to croak out. At least she thought she did, her voice was so soft.

He just bent his head toward her in return, never leaving her eyes. Just looking at him sent her veins on fire. His eyes bore into hers as she looked up at him. He smelled fresh, clean. _He must have just had a bath. Oh don’t think about him in the bath!_ She was having trouble breathing already - thinking of him in such a state certainly would not help her hold her composure. She couldn’t say how long she stood there before he raised his eyebrow at her.

“Oh! Come in.” She stood aside and held the door open for him as he stepped silently in. Sansa checked to make sure the hall remained empty before closing and barring the door behind her. When she turned back around he stood there just a few paces away, waiting for her.

_Gods. Does he want to start now? Is that how this kind of thing works?_

No. She needed a moment to catch her breath. She swallowed over the lump in her throat and gestured to the sitting area. “You can have a seat, if you would like.”

Sandor’s mouth twitched, but he nodded again and turned away from her. There was something off about the way he had looked at her. _Is he…is he nervous too?_ _No. The Hound couldn’t_ possibly _be nervous._ But then, she had seen him once, when he was afraid.

Sansa was frozen at the door as she watched him settle in. With his back turned, she grabbed the flagon of wine, filled a glass quickly and gulped it down even faster. She took a breath and made sure her voice would be steady before she spoke. “Would you like some wine?”

“No” He said a bit harshly, making her start. But then he cleared his throat and turned his head toward her. “Thank you.” She nodded and steadied her hand to pour herself another glass. _Why would he not want wine?_ She had never seen him refuse before.

He filled the silence as she walked over to him. “You left the great hall early. I was beginning to wonder if you were ill.”

“No. I’m not.” Sansa came around to face him and without overthinking it, she sat herself down next to him.

She glanced at him quickly in time for him to smirk at her. “Good.”

Sansa let herself smile back, praying she was able to conceal the way her heart jumped out of her chest, before turning away from him. _If you can barely stand to look him in the eye, how are you going to act when he touches you again?_ She ignored the thought and sipped at her wine, all too aware of just how closely they were seated. For a while, the only sound in the room was the crackle of the hearthfire and her heart pounding in her ears, though she doubted he could hear that. She could feel him studying her, self-conscious of every movement she made. He continued to stare for more than a few moments and she made herself turn back to him, a tentative smile on her mouth. “What is it?”

Sandor shrugged. “Just waiting.”

“Waiting for…” She took another sip of her wine to soothe her suddenly dry throat.

“For the moment you decide to send me away.”

Sansa nearly choked on her wine, but she managed to swallow the sip and cover her blunder by clearing her throat. “Whatever do you mean?”

He gestured toward the glass in her hand, leaning back into the cushion behind him, finally seeming to relax. “You’re guzzling that wine down like it’s the last time you’ll ever drink.”

Sansa looked down at her hand and the now near empty glass she held in it. “I’m not-“

He continued as if she said nothing. “You’ll tell me you have made a mistake-“

“But I haven’t-“

“-that this – whatever _this_ is – is not going to happen.”

“But…don’t you want it to happen?”

He blinked at her and he let out a heavy long breath. He nodded.

Sansa was not anticipating the type of effect his answer would have on her. He had never actually said that he wanted her yet, and she supposed this was as close to an admission she was ever going to get.

She tried to regain her composure as she went on. “And so do I.” She swallowed and took a breath. She leaned forward to the table and put her wine down. “I’m not drinking to…” She felt her face scrunch up as she searched for the words. “…get this over with.” She made herself turn to him. “I am only nervous.”

He looked away from her, running a hand over his jaw, covering his mouth as he muttered something she could barely hear, sounding a lot like _this is madness_. He sighed and dropped his hand, turning back to her. “Are you absolutely certain you want me to be here?”

Sansa swallowed again and put her hand next to his on the small space left between them. “I am.”

It was then that something in him changed. Sandor shook his head again and grabbed her hand, forcefully, but not ungently. “Why?” His eyes searched hers as he leaned toward her. “Why me?” His eyes bore into hers and she could not find it in herself to look away. There was no anger. But perhaps _fear_? Doubt to be sure. Sansa felt herself shake her head. He _was_ doubting himself, but even more, doubting her with every piece of his being that she could truly want anything to do with him.

Sansa let out a sigh that was nearly a laugh. “You _are_ joking?” _Gods. The man really has no idea what he does to me_. Perhaps it was the wine, or maybe the frightened look in the Sandor’s eyes, but she found herself to be unabashedly honest all of a sudden. “Of course it would be you. Who else could it possibly be?”

His grip loosened on her and he let go, leaving a burning trace of his touch on her skin. “That Glover boy or…I don’t know, anyone else with a better face than mine.” He let out a mirthless laugh and Sansa didn’t join him.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “So self-deprecating. It’s not becoming on you, you know.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Is anything?”

Sansa huffed, starting to get frustrated, even now that the ice seemed to be broken. _He just does not understand_. He needed to be convinced, somehow, that she did not just roll the dice and land on him; she had _chosen_ him. But then, could she even put it into words? She tried once, to tell him how much it truly meant having him there at Winterfell, but he had literally run away! But now he had come of his own accord, knowing full well what was expected of him. Sansa knew that if she were to keep him there and not scare him off, then she needed to be more gentle about what he might have been too afraid to hear. She turned herself toward him and put her hand over his that rested on his knee.

She stared at the unflinching stillness of him underneath her hand as she spoke. “I know you appreciate honesty.” She made herself look up at him. “Would you like to hear the truth?”

Sandor was still for a moment before he nodded, solemnly.

“Do you know that you are the only one who knows of what happened to me in the capitol?”

Sandor looked confused. “You never told anyone about your life in King’s Landing? How you were treated?”

Sansa shook her head. “Not the details. I have only told my bannermen, and Harry, that I was indeed held as a hostage. I suppose I let them come to their own conclusions about the rest.” She swallowed a lump in her throat as she went on, determined on holding his stony gaze while she explained herself. “Its…it is too difficult to even think about sometimes, as I am sure you can understand?” He answered her with another nod before she continued. “And, I don’t know. Sometimes I feel as though you, knowing all you do, are the only one here who has the capacity to understand me. As if you are the only one who truly knows me.” Sandor narrowed his eyes at her, a look of disbelief taking over his features. Sansa felt a slight panic begin to rise in her chest. “Does it…does that make any sense?”

“Coming from you?” He nearly sneered and pulled his hand out from under hers. “No. You seem to be forgetting that I played a major part in your _care_ in the capitol.” Sansa found herself shaking her head while he spoke, getting louder, angrier with each word. “Delivered you to Joffrey. Stood by while they beat you. Put a knife to your bloody throat! It’s like you forgot all about that night-“

“And you seem to be forgetting that you never actually hurt me.” Sansa cut him off in a stern and even voice. “I did not forget. I remember _everything_ \- in vivid detail. And don’t you try to scare me away with talk of that night. If you can recall, you were drunk out of your mind, and you still did not hurt me. You were only afraid. I know that’s all it was.”

“You don’t know what I was think-“

“I _do_ know what you were thinking. What _you_ don’t seem to realize, even now, is that you never would have done it.” He looked away from her, and turned to the fire. Sansa had to restrain herself from grabbing his face and turning it back toward her. She used the strength in her voice instead, feeling her fingers squeeze lightly into his knee that she only just realized she still held onto. “Look at me.” She was shocked that he did, although it was completely reluctant. She spoke more softly when his eyes finally met hers. “Look at me and tell me you would have actually gone through with it.”

As she watched him, something changed in his eyes. She almost did not recognize what it was, but then it hit her. Defeat. She felt herself nod, trying not to get too excited that she had finally won him over. She took another breath before she spoke. “If you truly wanted to hurt me that night, you would have.”

Sandor blinked at her and he grumbled out a sigh, which Sansa took as reluctant acceptance. _One battle over._ But he was still not completely convinced of why she wanted him there - she was certain.

“You saved my life. You were the one who wiped the blood from my lip when I was hit. Or did you forget that too?” She felt Sandor twitch underneath her as his teeth clicked together, but she would not be deterred. “I do not think I could have called you my friend, but you watched out for me all the same. I believe I told you the other night that I always felt safer when you were around. That was true, but there is something else.”

Sansa couldn’t believe she was about to say it. She never even let herself think of it anymore. She was afraid to admit it to herself, let alone out loud to him. But since she told him she would be honest, she felt that he had to know. She took a breath and dove in. “When I think of that night, when you came to my room, it is not a memory of fear. Only…regret. You see…” She licked her lip, pausing to find the courage to continue. “…I had often wished that I left with you that night.” Sandor’s face changed so little then, but it still revealed the shock he must have felt at her words. His nostrils flared ever so slightly and his eyes didn’t widen so much as _brighten_. “Everything worked out in the end, I suppose. But still…” She heard herself mumble, but it did not seem to help to soften the blow.

He was still and from the looks of it, he would remain silent for the rest of the evening. _Oh gods. I’m scaring him again. And rightly too! I said too much! It almost sounds as if I’m in –_

Sansa cut herself off. She didn’t even let herself finish the thought. That was not something she could process. Not tonight. Perhaps not ever.

Sandor blinked at her and looked at her like she had three heads. _At least he’s not running away again._ “You’re mad.” He finally told her.

Sansa heard herself sigh as she looked down at her hand on his knee. “I am not. You are just infuriatingly stubborn.”

From the corner of her eye she could see Sandor run a hand over his face as he groaned.

 _Seven hells. Who would have thought this would have been so hard!_ “Gods, if that is not enough to convince you, then…” She made herself look up at him. “Do you know what happens to me? Anytime – _every single time_ – you look at me?” Sandor did not respond. He did not move, aside from his shoulders rising and falling with his deep and concentrated breaths. “It’s… it’s your eyes, if you must know. It’s strange to put into words, but I’m going to try.” She felt herself chewing on her lip as she tried to explain and made herself stop the childish habit. “When you look at me...I feel myself _melt_ inside. But at the same time, its as if I’ve been wrapped into a tight coil, every nerve in my body alert with the knowledge that your eyes are on me.”

His eyebrow furrowed when she said it and she pulled her hands away. She brought her hand to her forehead, trying to hide herself away from the man she just made a fool of herself for. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

Sandor leaned forward and wrapped his hand around her wrist, pulling it away from her face. “It does.” He rasped, not letting go of her hand. “I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

Sandor simply nodded. _How could he possibly know how it feels? Only if… he couldn’t feel the same, could he?_

No. It was all too much. She wouldn’t dare ask. Not yet. Instead, she found herself admitting something else altogether, trapped under his stony gaze as she was. His touch on her wrist seemed to be unlocking all of her secret shameful truths that she had tried to hide from everyone, including herself.

“I can still remember how it felt. When you saved me. When you took me away from that riot in King’s Landing.” She watched as his nostrils flared again and felt his grip tighten on her wrist. “I used to imagine it, when I was alone at night. Your chest under my hands. How it felt to…to touch you.” He blinked then and she watched him swallow heavily. “So. In case you still do not believe me, let me just say…” She moved slightly closer to him until her other hand could touch his leg again. “It is not the Glover boy that I dreamt about near every night in the Vale.” She blinked slowly, gathered the last of her courage, and looked up at him. “It’s not the Glover boy I escape to in my mind when my husband falls on me every night.”

Sandor closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath. Sansa did the same, chastising herself for mentioning Harry. “I’m sorry. I should not have mentioned him. I don’t want to think about him tonight.” _Or ever really._

She opened her eyes when she felt the warmth of his fingers on her chin. “What do you want then?” He was so close, she could feel the heat of his breath on her lips.

 _Oh thank the gods, this is really happening._ She tilted her head up to him again, any doubt or fear suddenly gone with the closeness of him. “I want you to kiss me.”

Sandor smirked at her, but he did not let her go. “Is that why you asked me here? You want to be kissed?”

“Yes. Although, that’s not all.” She felt a jolt in her chest at her sudden boldness.

But Sandor seemed to like it on her: his eyes practically smoldering as responded, inching even closer to her. “I’m no good at kissing girl.”

Sansa felt her mouth turn up at the corner. “I should like to think that you would let me decide that for myself. Besides…it was not a question. Kiss me.”

And so he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! Just one more!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to add another tag for this one hehh.

It was the most bizarre feeling that she had ever experienced, the contrasting sensation of both sides of his mouth. She felt the smoothness of his right side, the roughness of the left. Sansa had imagined what it might feel like to have Sandor’s lips against her own countless times, but nothing prepared her for the reaction her body would have when it actually happened. All he had done was press his mouth lightly to hers and it sent a shock through her that she simply did not know how to wrap her head around. Just as she was getting used to it, relishing in the feeling he gave her with such a brief touch, he pulled away from her. Sansa felt her stomach drop to the floor as she opened her eyes.

He stared down at her, his eyes a storm. “Are you su-“

Sansa cut him off. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the mouth. Finally kissing him set something off in her and she had simply had enough of talking. He gave a sharp sound of surprise as he went reeling into the back of the couch, but almost immediately responded, snaking his arms around her middle as she forced herself on him.

His mouth was warm under hers as he kissed her back. Sansa may have been a little too enthusiastic, kissing him fiercely and perhaps a bit frantically. She felt him chuckle in his throat as he moved to hold her head in his hands. She felt him take control then, slowing her down. His fingers worked their way into her hair, sending shivers through the rest of her, causing her to gasp. When her mouth opened, so did his

She thought the feel of his lips against hers was good, _but gods_ , the taste of him was even better. Better than anything she could have expected or even hoped for. Harry’s kisses were too wet. His sloppy tongue tended to dart speedily around her mouth. Sansa always felt like he was in a rush, almost like she had to fend him off.

Sandor on the other hand… _oh gods, this is too good._ With Sandor, she felt as though she was evenly matched. She felt like she was exploring him as much as he was her. She had never been kissed like that before. _And he thought he was bad at it?_ He was not rough, but he warm firm, kissing her slowly, deeply and thoroughly. She adapted quickly, moving her tongue against his, constantly reminding herself to breathe.

Sansa had been so focused on that alone that she barely noticed when her back hit the cushioned arm of the couch they sat - now laid – on together. Sandor hovered over her, never leaving her mouth when his hands started to explore the rest of her as their kiss deepened. Sansa took that to mean she could do the same. Feeling the way his muscled shoulders and back moved as he touched her was, on its own, enough to make her whimper. And that was with the tunic that separated her fingers from his skin. He seemed to have heard the sound she made, or at least felt it, letting out a groan himself. He lowered himself against her, leaving her mouth to press his lips, his tongue, against her neck.

Sansa almost wanted to laugh. “Whoever gave you the impression that you were bad at this was severely mistaken.” She panted, trying to catch her breath once more. He chuckled against her throat, sending heat shooting down to her core.

Things escalated rather quickly then, and Sansa could not find it in herself to care, not with the way he touched her. She had spread her legs for him to get closer, her skirts hiked up past her knees, any trace of propriety gone out the window long ago. She didn’t know how he managed it, but her stockings ended up on the floor underneath them.

He looked her in the eye, his calloused fingers too high, but not yet high enough on her bare thigh.

“You’ve really never felt…?” He asked, disbelief in his eyes.

“No.” She bit her lip, shameful honesty pouring out of her under his scrutiny. “Well…only once. On my own.”

Sandor’s eyes widened briefly, filled with mirth for a moment that she thought would kill her with embarrassment. “Did you now?” He smirked down at her, his fingers moving up to her hip to loosen the ties of her smallclothes. “How?” He asked, but Sansa stayed silent. She could not say it out loud. It was too shameful. She felt her face warm even more than it already had. Sandor kept his eyes on hers as he worked her smallclothes away from her body. “Like this?” He breathed when he finally touched her in just the right spot. Sansa gasped and felt her back arch beneath him.

He searched her face, genuinely curious. He almost seemed surprised when she nodded her approval. With his eyes still on hers, he slipped a finger inside of her, another, making her gasp again and he sighed out another moan. She was embarrassed at the state of her wetness, but she supposed it was a good thing, given the look on Sandor’s face before he kissed her again. The way he made her feel was better than anything she could have achieved on her own, better still with one hand than anything Harry managed to do with all of his manhood.

It did not take long for it to build, the pressure and warmth roiling through her. Sandor’s fingers curled upward meeting underneath of where his thumb pressed at the little nub she had found on her own when she thought about him. He broke their kiss then, and she was disappointed, whining and digging her fingers into his shoulders to let him know. But he moved to her ear and breathed, murmuring to her as his hand continued to move beneath her dress.

“Do you know how many times I have walked by this door at night? Wanting to come in here. Take you away from him?”

Sansa’s sigh at his words turned into a moan of true pleasure as she finally felt it, as she finally peaked for him, because of him. Her body went taught in his arms, no more sound escaping her mouth when she reached it. She did not realize how hard her fingers dug into his shoulders until she felt her body turn to liquid and her arms dropped down against her own chest.

Sandor’s hand stilled as he stared down at her, watching her closely as she responded to what he had said. “You should have done it.” She panted breathlessly. “Every night I would have had you instead.”

“Fuck.” He rasped, before kissing her fiercely. She would not have noticed what he was doing if she had not missed the feeling of his hand on her. But she opened her eyes, and saw him fumbling with the ties on his breeches. She pulled away from him, but he just moved onto her neck once more.

“What are you...” _No. Not here, not just yet_. “Wait.”

His hand froze on his breeches, but his lips did not leave her throat. “I can’t.”

“Sandor stop.” She tilted her head away from him, and in a second he was sitting upright. A look of shame flashed in his eyes before it was replaced by anger. His voice was almost as harsh as the way he looked at her. “I thought you wanted-“

“I do!” She sat up to meet him, feeling ridiculous, sitting in her solar with her skirts hiked up past her thighs. “Not like this. For gods’ sakes Sandor, if you think after I finally get you here, that I am going to want to rush through any of this then you must be completely mad!”

She watched his face as he let that settle in. She saw that his anger was not from her refusal, it was embarrassment. As if he had misread what she wanted of him. As if she could have had another reason for asking him there tonight!

She grabbed his hand, knowing she would have to be bold in order to keep him convinced. “I mean to have you properly. In bed.”

The fear and embarrassment in his eyes faded quickly into lust once more and Sansa suppressed a smile as she brought herself to her feet. It felt incredibly strange to be fully dressed but for her small clothes. But she did not plan on being dressed for much longer at all. She moved to her desk, feeling his eyes on her as she grabbed a candle. She turned to him, still kneeling there staring at her.

“Aren’t you going to follow me?”

Sansa turned her head again and moved to her bedroom. She did not look back, but heard him get up from his spot and cross the room behind her. She opened her door, not bothering to hide her grin and stepped inside, resting the candle on a shelf. Her bedroom was a little darker than the solar, the fire in the hearth smaller behind the grate. She never had need of too large a fire at night; the heavy draperies that hung from the enormous bed were usually enough to keep out the chill that found her so quickly as she stood there on her own.

But she was not alone for long. Sandor came up behind her after closing the door. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and found her ear with his lips. “Tell me what you want.”

Sansa turned around in his arms. Her eyes had adjusted to the loss of light and she could see the strong features of his face, but it was not enough. She tugged at the front of his clothes. “I want to see you.” She was pleased that he did not hesitate. He made quick work of the loose tunic he wore and then there he was, standing bare-chested before her.

The only man she had ever seen naked was Harry. Harry was strong. Lean muscles in his arms. A beautiful man, to be sure, even if his comfortable life made him a little soft around the belly.

There was no softness about Sandor’s body. Not even a part of it. She always knew how strong he was, and the images that her mind had created were not far off of the magnificent body that stood before her. What she was not expecting was how his chest would be absolutely covered in hair. Thick and dark, only broken up here and there by a few pale spots of skin that she could only guess to be minor scars.

It took her a moment to realize she needed to start breathing again. “Can I touch you?”

He let out a short laugh and nodded.

Sansa felt her hands shaking as she reached for his naked shoulders, knowing it was ridiculous that she could be nervous after everything that had just occurred in her solar. Her hands looked so small against his skin when she finally touched him. _He’s so_ warm _!_

Sandor grabbed her waist suddenly, bringing her closer. But he just waited to see what she would do, it would seem, just watching her. Sansa bit her lip and let herself grip into his shoulders, feeling his muscles tense under her touch. She moved her hands down the front of him, fingers gracing over his collarbone, and down into the black hair that was surprisingly soft to the touch. All the while his hands were on her hips, his fingers kneading into the flesh at her waist. She continued her descent down his chest, feeling the hard panes of his stomach where the hair began to lessen. She could see that he tried to hide his shiver as her fingers lowered to his waistline. And she could not avoid it anymore - the bulge trying to force its way out of the fabric of his breeches. She was about to curve her fingers around the edge of the fabric when-

“My turn.” Sandor interrupted, moving his hands from her waist to her wrists and pushing her hands away.

She scowled up at him. “I was not finished.”

“It is only fair.” He smirked, placing her hands at her sides. “Besides, I am not going anywhere, little bird.”

The sound of his old name for her left her frozen in his gaze. “Do you mean it?”

Sandor’s brow knotted together and he looked incredulously at her, but he nodded.

_Too much_ , she looked down. _You are reading too much into this. Do not scare him away._ Not knowing what else to do, she started to unlace her bodice.

“Let me.” He moved her hands out of the way again. “Gods know I have been wanting to do this for how long…won’t let you take that away from me.”

It was the second time that night that Sandor had mentioned wanting her for some time. As they had before, his words send a flutter through her. It was the second time that night that she thought perhaps, that it just might be, that she was _not_ reading too much into his being there with her. But it was not a thought she was prepared to deal with just yet, not with the heady way he looked at her.

As Sandor had with her, Sansa watched his eyes as he traced her neckline, feeling goose bumps appear under his fingers. He loosened her laces enough until she was able to shrug out of her bodice. He helped push her sleeves over her shoulders and followed it down until her skirt and bodice together were a pile about her feet.

“Bugger me.” He murmured looking ardently, even reverently, at her in her shift. She knew when she dressed earlier that day that she had chosen that particular shift for a reason; the fabric was so light, nearly sheer, and she knew he could see practically all of her in the dim firelight of her bedroom.

Sansa felt her mouth turn up at the corner as his eyes fell back to hers. Sandor took a step closer and took her about the hips. He held her eyes as he gathered the thin fabric in his hands. Sansa lifted her arms for him and he pulled her shift up and over her head. She heard a faint intake of breath from him when he could finally see her.

She had a silly urge to cross her arms over her chest as she stood there bare and ready for him, but she made herself stand straight, arms at her sides as he had done for her. She did not even have her small clothes to hide behind. Sandor had flung them away once he had gotten them off of her in his earlier haste. _I will have to find those before the morning_ , she reminded herself.

Sandor did as she had done, his fingertips starting at her shoulders with a feather-light touch while his right hand slowly started to explore the rest of her. The pure lust radiating from his eyes as he looked at her, as he felt her, was nearly enough to drown her. From the corner of her eye, she could see how her chest rose and fell rapidly with her heavy breaths. She could not help the sound that slipped from her mouth as he felt her breast. When he touched her near painfully hard nipple, it happened again, only more loudly. She felt her whole face redden as his eyes flashed up to hers. It was the hard look of lust in them that sent another shock of heat through her veins, a warmth pooling between her legs once more.

Sandor’s hands moved down her sides to her waist, where he stopped to hold her. “You were right not to rush it.” He smirked down at her. “This was worth the wait.”

Sansa barely had a chance to nod in response before he crushed her to him. His arms like iron bars around her waist as she clutched him around the neck once more. They kissed more slowly than before, now that he obviously did not want to rush things. Sansa was completely wrapped up in him. She could not move even if she wanted to – and she absolutely did not want to. With every move he made, every way he touched her, she knew she had never felt anything so glorious in all her life. His mouth, warm and exploring her. The feel of his naked chest pressed against hers. The bulge of his manhood pressing hard against her belly. His hands moving against the skin of her back, her hips, her bottom. She felt like she was absolutely covered in goosebumps.

Sansa was on her toes, she realized, as he bent down to reach her. She could not get high enough, close enough, her arm around his neck, her other hand buried in his hair. _Gods_ , she could stay like this for hours. She wanted to continue, but she did not want to stop what they were doing. She wanted to jump up and wrap her legs around him right where he stood. It might be awkward to maneuver, but she knew he could hold her weight without a problem.

Sandor had something else in mind, it would seem, as he started to move them both toward the bed. She felt her bed press against her and not a moment later, Sandor lifted her, tossing her playfully on top of it. Sansa could not help the giggle that erupted from her throat as she gathered herself up on her knees and waited for him. Sandor grinned at the sound of it, finally kicking off his boots and reaching for the ties of his breeches. Sansa felt herself sober then, as she watched the fabric slip away from his hips.

_Oh. Perhaps that is Harry’s problem._ She felt a shiver go through her and it was not just from the cold. There was a chill without him now that she had gotten used to the heat of him. He seemed to feel it too, drawing the bedclothes closed behind him as he knelt up to the bed. Sansa did not give him a chance to move beyond that. She threw herself at him and kissed him again.

She could not help the way her hands ran over his chest, and he did not stop her this time when she wanted to move lower. When she finally touched him she was amazed at how he felt in her hands. So large and heavy, so smooth and hot to the touch. Sandor responded immediately. His hands moved down her back and cupped her bottom. He lifted her so suddenly that she had to move her hands to his shoulders to steady herself. He pressed her to him so that his manhood rubbed against her pulsing nub. Sandor groaned into her mouth, but she pulled back with a gasp. She was not expecting herself to still be so fiercely sensitive after what transpired in her sitting room. Sandor dropped her and she squirmed away from him with a smirk, inviting him to follow her. Sansa moved until she reached the headboard, and laid back against the pillows, waiting for him.

It was dark, hidden inside the bedclothes as they were, but with the silhouette of the fire, she could still see all of him as he came over to her. _Seven hells this is too much._ He bent down to her, his tongue tasting the skin of her thigh as he kissed her. He moved up the rest of her body slowly, kissing her hip bone, her stomach, her breast, grazing his teeth against her nipple, before continuing on to her collarbone, and finally her neck.

Sansa swore she was seeing spots. If she had not been lying down, she knew she would have fainted from the way he made her feel. Maybe, one day, she could tell him how much more this meant to her. But for now, she was more than content to let him have his way with her.

His lips ghosted over the shell of her ear, sounding nearly as breathless as she. “How do you want it?”

Sansa almost froze. “What do you mean?”

Sandor pulled away, narrowing his eyes down at her. “Don’t tell me he never-“ He cut his question off. She could tell he wished he had not brought up her husband. “You know,” he bent closer, his mouth hovering over hers. “…there is more than one way we can do this.”

Sansa felt herself gulp, though she tried not to seem too nervous. Harry tried _something_ once, turning her over on her stomach. She almost forgot about that; how she scrambled away and smacked him. _If you want to fuck like a dog_ , she had told him, _then go find a willing partner in the kennels_. He never tried again.

She did not think Sandor would have that in mind. She wanted to _see_ him. Besides, he asked her what _she_ wanted. She would not even know what to think though, or what to ask for. She did not want to seem stupid, so she settled for evasive. “What do you suggest?” She purred up at him, her fingers moving over the smooth muscles of his arm.

“For you?” Sandor seemed to ask himself. He contemplated, but only for a moment. He let go of her, leaned away and flopped unceremoniously down on his back next to her. He turned his head to her, a trace of his familiar smirk on his lips. “Straddle me.”

“ _What_?”

“You heard me.” He lifted his chin, gesturing for her to get up. “Straddle me.”

Sansa’s body seemed to move of its own accord as she sat up, feeling his eyes on her naked form. She looked down at him and his manhood, jutting up proudly, waiting for her.

She felt his hand on hers and she made herself look over at him. “You’ll like it.” He told her, tugging at her hand. “I promise.” Sansa chewed on her lip, but decided to trust him. He held her hand as she maneuvered herself up and over him, her knees on either side of his hips. It was so strange. She felt like she was on display, over exposed, especially with her legs spread the way they were. But the way his eyes roamed over her body almost pushed those thoughts away.

Sandor’s hands moved to her hips then, barely even touching her now, as if he were unrolling a centuries old parchment. She wanted him to grab her, hold her tight. But his feather-light touch was too good, sending a shiver rolling up her spine. He seemed to notice the effect his touch had on her; his one hand moved to her thigh again, his fingers finding the wetness he had created between her legs. Sansa whimpered when he touched her, but she did not move away this time as she waited for his next move. Looking at him, there was a question in his eyes, she realized. He did not need to say anything. She knew what he was asking. Even to the last second, he was still making sure that this is what she wanted. She felt her lip turn up at the corner as she nodded down at him.

He let out a near shuddering breath then as he gripped into both of her hips and lifted her over him. Sansa straightened her back as she lowered down onto him. Deep moans rumbled from both of their throats when he was finally fully inside of her. _Yes,_ Sansa thought. _This is most definitely Harry’s problem._ It took her a moment to adjust to the size of him, but once she did, her hips started to move on their own. She pressed her hands to his stomach to balance herself and moved slowly against him, eliciting deep, rumbling moans from his throat with every buck of her hips.

The warmth in her core did not take long to build, but for some reason, she began to feel a little worried. What if she couldn’t peak this way either? What if there truly _was_ something wrong with her? It did not help her self-conscious thoughts anymore, feeling his eyes roaming over her. Though he was clearly relishing the sight of her, he had no idea what was running wildly through her mind, taking over any feeling he was giving her. It felt like she was never going to peak, like it was going to be perpetually out of reach. She must have let her worry show on her face then. Sandor’s eyes screwed up closed and he let go of her, his arms crossing over his face and a deep laugh erupting from his mouth.

Sansa froze on top of him. _Oh no. I was right. What have I done wrong?_ “What is it?”

He moved his arms away and looked steely up at her. “Don’t stop, for fuck’s sake!” He yelled and reached up for her, bending her over him so that their chests pressed against each other. “You’re just too fucking good.” Sansa found herself smiling widely as she kissed him. Any fear she might have felt disappeared when he kissed her back clumsily, teeth clashing against each other as he laughed again. They started to move together, making a heat of their own in the cold of the room. Sandor had one hand on the small of her back, guiding her hips against his as his other hand twisted in the hair at the base of her neck.

It was the combination of all of these things, she thought, that finally sent her over the edge. She did not even have a chance to wrap her mind around it, it happened so quickly. She felt her fingers digging into his scalp as she finally found relief. A strangled cry poured from her mouth and into his as a tingling, burning, tremor coursed through her veins, that when it faded, left her all but limp on top of him.

A growl erupted from his throat and Sansa barely had time to react before Sandor sat up, pushed Sansa onto her back and knelt between her legs. He thrust deeply into her, once, twice, and only a third time before he tried to pull away. But Sansa locked her ankles and tightened her legs around him, refusing to let him go. That was enough for him, it seemed, as he rumbled his release above her.

Even when he eventually stilled, Sansa continued to squirm underneath him, feeling something beginning to build within her once again.

“Too much.” Sandor mumbled and lifted himself off of her, falling onto his back once again next to her.

She felt a glaring absence without him inside of her, but she was pleased to be able to breathe properly again. They laid there like that for a while, both panting, staring up into darkness, trying to catch their breath.

Years later, they would talk about that first night and laugh about how nervous, clumsy and awkward they had been with each other. She would tell him just how truly inexperienced she was with everything until he came along. He would tell her, albeit reluctantly, just how terrified he had been, knowing how he desperately needed to impress her.

But they would not talk about any of that tonight. Not for a while.

Sansa turned her head and looked at him. Sandor did the same and looked at her. She felt herself smile at him and he smirked right back. She knew then that it would not be the last time, of that much she was overwhelmingly sure. _This, whatever this is, is not finished. Not tonight. Not for the week. Not even when Harry returns._

Sansa was not going to give him up, not for her husband – not for anything in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I hope that was halfway decent! Thank you to everyone who read and commented, and to LadyTP for the lovely prompt!! :)


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